Fate tromluí
by Shrapnel893
Summary: Years after the Fifth Holy Grail War and the subsequent dismantle of the Greater Grail itself, a new presence begins to stir in the lands of Northern Ireland. A team of magi from the Mage's Association is sent to investigate, while similarly the Holy Church sends its Executors. Caught up in the middle are unlucky souls that may or may not be related to the current events.
1. Chapter 1

**|. Starting**

"Fan out, search the area. Strike down any suspected of infection."

Médée Veilleux turned an undead's head to ash, letting its headless body fall inanimate at her feet, and with an outstretched palm engulfed the remains in flame, scattering the charred bits and pieces, hearing the hollow crunch as previously hardened bone and cartilage was crushed beneath her heel as she looked to the way ahead.

A dozen of them lay around her, having met similar ends to the one she'd just dispatched. Flexing the muscles in her arm, she knew a lot more of them were to be waiting further inside. The Dead Apostle using these undead as its playthings was somewhere in the cave before her, the entrance dark and foreboding. A metal rod was stuck at its foot, a man's head impaled on its tip. She turned her palm towards it as she passed, the smell of freshly burnt skin filling the air as her magic seared through one of the man's still open eye sockets and spread, what remained of his head and the rod both turning to ash like the undead. She had to find the Dead Apostle—her task was clear.

Entering the cave, she felt along the wall, slick and covered in some black substance that thirsted for sorrow that tried to burrow into her mind for the dark terrors that lay buried. She pulled her hand away, as the presence was too weak to be of any threat to her, and snapped her fingers, the black substance bursting into flames. It was like tar, and she followed the flame as it went further into the cave, consuming the black substance hungrily. The flame illuminated the darkness, and as she got closer to where the Dead Apostle resided, more of the undead intercepted her. She extinguished each and every one she came across as the air grew colder, the flame dimming despite how bright it should be. It meant she was getting all the more closer, only a few more steps and she'd met it.

As she came to the back of the cave, the flame finally gone, surrounded by darkness once again, she snapped her fingers for the second time and a tiny flame sparked in her palm. Using her makeshift torch, she cautiously took a step forward. There was a squelching sound as her foot squished something. Something soft and decayed. Increasing the flame's luminescence, she looked down. Intestines were strewn across the floor, and she followed them to the girl's body they'd come from; ripped in two. Her blood ran into every crevice and crack of the cave's floor, her mouth agape in a silent scream. In her eyes were tears, wide with fright. What remained of her school uniform was unrecognizable, stained and torn.

Moving up from the mangled corpse, Médée stared at the bits of organ that still hung from the Dead Apostle's mouth. Its back had been turned to her, but now black eyes stared intensely in her direction, not seeing so much as sensing her. The magic flowing through her veins. _Powerful and ancient._

The light from her flame started searing its exposed skin and it backed away into the dark, babbling something incoherent as it hissed and spit.

"Where is your master?" She took a step forward and it took a step back. Her eyes narrowed, kicking the girl's intestines to the side, ignoring the wet impact as they hit the cave wall. "Do you have the sword of the Treacherous Heir, or does he?"

The Dead Apostle garbled something and spat whatever it'd been eating at her feet. A piece of the girl's stomach; the smell of mushed, partially-digested remnants of her last meal mixed in with the already strong aroma of death. Médée thrust her hand out, darkness slowly creeping back as she outstretched her palm and waited until her makeshift torch finally flickered out.

"To die is your answer? Then it must be with your master."

She surged prana through her magic circuits, collecting it in the palm as the Dead Apostle, unburdened by the darkness that now surrounded them, sprang forward. As it got just with a hair's breadth of her fingertips, she unleashed the built-up energy and sent it reeling back, clawing and tearing at itself in a vain attempt at snuffing out the flames that now engulfed its body. Watching as it writhed on the body of the dead girl, she outstretched her palm again and thought to ask once more, but reconsidered as she reduced the Dead Apostle to ash, also burning the dead girl's body that lay underneath, further marking her as unrecognizable.

Casting her eyes across the cave, she expanded a vast amount of prana from her magic circuits to engulf the area, stepping through the flames and making her way back to the entrance as her magic took care of any evidence. When she came out of the cave and peered around at all of the Executors gathering the undead and piling them into a mound, she hastily made her way to Vice Director Lorelei.

The Vice Director of the Mage's Association, usually straight faced and unflinching in everything that she did, was gripping a cloth wrapped sword in her one gauntleted hand, eyes murderous and the air around her electrifying. She'd been gritting her teeth so strongly a trickle of blood had run down her chin, and was now dripping onto the cloth. Her eyes were downcast, and she held out the sword for her to take.

"The Dead Apostle had mixed himself in with his familiars. The one in the cave was only a ghoul giving off the same aura, no doubt likely about to turn itself. I assume you've taken care of it, nonetheless?"

"It was no trouble."

"Of course it wasn't. Not for someone of your caliber." The Vice Director flicked the blood from her chin and tightened her hand into a fist. "The bastard had played us for fools, and in the end still met the same fate as all the others." She looked up with solemn eyes at her disciple. "Do you have any idea how it'd acquired the artifact?"

Unwrapping the sword, Médée held it two handed, eyes wandering up and down the old weapon. Lavishly decorated, a red line ran up from the base of the silver blade, thinning out as it came closer to the tip, and disappearing altogether once it reached the end. On the sides, the silver became blackened, no doubt still deadly despite its age. She went back to her mentor.

"It hid in the shadows, so it must've relentlessly searched that darkness for anything as vile as itself, stumbling upon something far more rotten at its core than it could ever be." She let the sword drop at her side. "And, captivated by the dark beauty of that which it could never be, sought to hoard it, longingly gazing at it, wishing it could be just as beautiful."

"A jealous desire." Vice Director Lorelei smirked and turned to the mound of rotting corpses still being piled on top of one another. "The presence I felt back at the Clock Tower, it must have been the sword itself, seeped in treachery. Wanting to be found." Turning back to her disciple, she seemed to have calmed down, if only on the surface. "Something was calling out to it, and we happened to intercept it."

"Another _Angra Mainyu_?"

The Vice Director crossed her arms, "Or one of the still remaining Ancestors." She put her non-gauntleted hand to her chin. "A newly ascended one, from the presence. I can't tell for certain, but whatever it is, it's powerful; far more powerful than _Angra Mainyu_. It's similar to that of Heaven's Feel, and yet..."

"Then, is there going to be another manifestation of the Grail?" She glanced down at the sword as the Vice Director did the same.

"If whatever's calling out _is_ in fact another Grail like Heaven's Feel, then there's the unmistakable certainty that another Holy Grail War will commence. Given the… ambiguity… of whatever it truly is, I want to be prepared for it."

"Shall I inform…?"

"Do so, and in the meantime I will put together a team. The two of you and this team will head out to wherever this presence is the greatest and annihilate it. If that fool wishes to study it, let him be consumed by whatever comes forth. No matter what the outcome is, render it a non-existence. _Utterly._"

"And what of the sword?"

"Keep it, you're more than likely to need it. Once I have the names of the members, I shall inform you, and I want you to only relay this to that free-loader: _your destination is Northern Ireland, your task is to investigate the strong presence there and that is all._"

"I will see to it immediately."

"I know. I have the utmost faith that you will. And, one day, you might even rival my standing as the Vice Director." She smiled and looked toward the sunlight peeking through the woods. "The pride of the Barthomeloi tells me to be wary of you in the distant future, and should it come to a duel between you and I, know that you are to hold nothing back. As I will unleash everything at you, in turn." Looking back to her, Vice Director Lorelei narrowed her eyes. "Now, go, and take care of this presence quickly, before it grows ever more powerful."

Médée Veilleux bowed, wrapping the sword back in the cloth as she left her mentor's presence to carry out the next task given to her.

—**§•†•§—**

"This section of the house is the bedroom where Jeanne d'Arc and her sister, Catherine, resided in their early childhood together. Not much is known about the life of Catherine, other that she died while giving childbirth near the end of the year 1429. Records say that Jeanne d'Arc's early life was…"

Cary inhaled, wrinkling his nose at the accumulation of dust around the room, disinterested in their tour guide's ramblings about Jeanne d'Arc. Looking towards the window at the back of the room, he wondered why it was so tiny, barely any light coming through its wooden frames, as particles of dust danced in a shaft of light that had managed to shine its way through.

"Moving on to the next section of the house, this is where…"

Gravitating away from the group as they followed the tour guide into the next room, Cary glanced out the window, absentmindedly continuing to stare at the scenery, trying to forget that there was a church in the village. He sighed—the whole point of his trip here was the church, yet he didn't feel like going. So what if his family used to be part of some magic circle? It didn't concern him and it sure as hell didn't mean he had to go to that church, dig up some old relic, and waste the time and effort—the money—he'd spent getting here just to leave immediately afterwards.

So what, if his father wanted some dusty piece of junk to hang up in their residence back in Ireland? Why something of Jeanne d'Arc's belongings?

Stepping outside the old house, with its yellowed and bare walls, he buried his hands deeper into his jacket pockets and watched a series of cars cruise by. The chances of there even being something related to Jeanne d'Arc in the church, over hundreds of years after her death, was very slim. Anything that could have survived would be just like the dust that accumulated itself in her old house.

Walking down a sidewalk to… anywhere, Cary took in the sights of the village. Domrémy was very dreary, but that could just be because of the weather, and Cary clicked the end of his tongue since it reminded him of back home. Where it was always moist, always murky, and not the most ideal place to build a mansion as his father was attempting to do.

The only real place that did stand out in the village was the church, and he let out another sigh as he came to its main entrance. There was no avoiding it, was there?

Pushing the door open, it creaked. Hoping nobody heard the noise, he hastily made his way inside and waited a few moments after the door had shut to scour the room. His best bet was to check the altar and, obviously, anywhere someone would potentially hide something. Rummaging around, he came to find nothing but dust and cobwebs, coughing as he made a final decision that nothing was in the place until he nearly tripped on a protruding stone tile towards the back, catching himself on a conveniently-placed table. After checking his shoe to make sure it wasn't scuffed, he peered down at the stone tile. It was suspicious, but he also couldn't rule out the simple fact that the church was poorly maintained; one upraised stone tile wasn't unusual.

Normally, he would just forget it and leave, if it wasn't for the fact that when he looked even closer, could tell that someone had deliberately raised it just a few breaths above the others. Which, much to his chagrin, meant that this little errand his father had sent him on wasn't pointless after all. Crouching down, he tried to lift the tile, unable to grasp its raised ends solidly enough. After trying various other methods in vain, he just pushed down on it with his boot in frustration, the tile sinking slightly, and to his surprise, popping up just enough so he could grasp it firmly and pull it out.

To further add to his surprise, not only was it heavy, but it wasn't even a stone tile. A block of stone was in his hands, and he set it down with more effort that he'd liked to have exerted, wiping his forehead as he stared down at the rectangular shaped hole in the ground. And, covered in dirt at the bottom was a shard of some sort, and as he took it between his fingers, realized it wasn't a shard at all but the end of something. Pulling, the dirt around it collapsed, revealing that it to be pummel of some sword, and, still pulling, a hilt. Then, a guard. And, finally, a blade. Staring at the weapon he'd stumbled upon, it was covered in rust. _There was no possible way for..._

The rust covering the sword crumbled away in flakes to reveal the sword in perfect condition, light and very smooth to the touch. Very plain. It wasn't magnificent in any sense of the word and, while he was glad to have found something, at the bottom his heart he was disappointed. He'd expected something… _grander_ than an oversized letter opener.

Still, at least now he could return to his father and be done with the errand. The possibility of it belonging to Jeanne d'Arc… he'd just tell him it bore some relation, just not that it was some old rusty sword he'd found in the church at Domrémy, close to the home where Jeanne d'Arc once lived many, _many_ years ago.

As he left the church with the sword placed in the case his father had given him, and, knowing his father and his obsession with the family's past with magic, wondered just _what_ his father truly needed it for. To hang it on the wall someplace, probably, but… there must be more to it than that… and before he allowed his mind to wonder any further, Cary stopped and looked back in the direction of Jeanne d'Arc's home. Glowering, he knew that questioning it would only get him further involved in his father's odd dealings than he already was and stomped the rest of the way to his car.

This little errand was enough. The last thing he'd ever do for his father in a long while.

He hoped.

—**§•†•§—**

Pressing the button on the elevator that would take her to Lord El-Melloi II's chambers, Médée recounted what Vice Director Lorelei had told her in-route as the elevator doors closed.

"_I've contacted Aozaki and she'll be joining you once you've touched down in Dublin."_

"_And what of the others of the team?"_

"_The current head of the Department of Evocation's daughter is preparing as we speak and Tohsaka is already on a flight there."_

"_Anything else I need to know?"_

"_There is another artifact in my chambers that I want you to bring along. The keyword is 'Rome'."_

Making her presence known within the Lord's chambers, she gave her respects to the Lady Reines before doing the same to him.

The Lord waved the formalities away and stood by the window that overlooked the metropolis of London and the thousands of differentiating lights that made it up. Like a second sun, it was so bright. The window was dimmed, keeping its intensity to a minimum.

"I hate London at night, it's not quiet or at all peaceful."

"Lord El-Melloi II, I have news to relay."

"We've known each other long enough, call me Lord Velvet. I think you of all people have earned the right. Well, there are a few—"

"Let the girl speak, she's much more important than you, therefore whatever you're babbling about isn't worth her time." Lady Reines took a sip of her tea. "I'm sorry for his imprudence."

"It is of no trouble to me, milady."

Lord Velvet turned to Lady Reines with a pained smiled, who casually took another sip of tea, then went back to her. "What do you have for me? Something from the Vice Director? It's not another warning to remove my overabundance of 'useless moving pictures' or to get a hair-cut, is it?"

"You do need one."

"No, that is not what I'm here for."

"A pity, as he really does need one."

"The Holy Grail Wars, then?

"Why else would she take the time to waste her time with you…?"

"Heaven's Feel in Fukui has already been taken care of years ago, I—"

"Will you be quiet and let her speak already?"

Médée nodded her thanks. "You may have sensed it as Vice Director Lorelei has. Another Grail."

He rubbed his chin. "Now that you mention it, I have sensed something. Only, I'd dismissed it as nothing since Heaven's Feel has already been destroyed, as I've said. If it is another Grail, then I take it she wants me to check it out?"

"Along with myself and a team of three others, yes."

"She doesn't trust you. It's not a first."

"Yes, well, we'll see about that won't we?" He went back to her. "Who are the others that she's gathered to go on this… journey… besides you and me?"

"Izevel Nuada-Re Sophia-Ri and Rin Tohsaka."

"The head of the Tohsaka family and Bram's daughter? Are those the only two?"

"Aoko Aozaki will also be joining us along the way."

"Then, does this new Grail has something to do with the Fifth or Second Magics?"

"I'm not certain, nor was Vice Director Lorelei. That's why the five of us are going to investigate."

"And what of the Church?"

"There's a high probability that they'll send someone as well."

"Then we better start preparing. When do we leave for…?"

"Northern Ireland. Tomorrow, first light."

Done, Médée again paid her respects to the Lady Reines and left the Lord's chambers, entering the elevator once again. This time, she pressed a button that would lead her mentor's chambers on one of the uppermost floors to retrieve the artifact.

Taking a book about Rome from one of the Vice Director's many shelves, she flipped through it to discover that it was a story of Romulus and Remus, the feral twins who were responsible for Rome's creation. At the end of the book was a leaflet with only the word "Camlann". She took the leaflet and put the book back where it belonged, then searched for all the books that detailed the Battle of Camlann. And, after scouring though countless scores of information, she found another leaflet that pointed her to another chamber beneath the Clock Tower, one of Vice Director Lorelei's personal abodes.

Inside the chamber was the second artifact that she'd been instructed to find. It was a piece of the ancient city of Rome, and, by the looks of it, one of the very first stones laid down. Still staring at the objects before her, she felt Vice Director Lorelei's presence, turning to see her playing with the end of her baton, leaning against the closed door to the chamber. Abruptly, she stopped and nodded at the two artifacts.

"You have more than enough prana to be able to control two Servants simultaneously, though they will both be in weakened states than if you were to summon a single one. There is also the matter of their conflicting personalities... But, as you are my disciple, I have the utmost confidence, and pride, that you will be able to handle these two Heroic Spirits with little difficulty. If either of them can be called such, anyhow."

"Mordred and... Romulus?"

Vice Director Lorelei nodded. "I will teach you the summoning incantations for your journey tomorrow." She held out her gauntleted hand and tightened it into a bone-crushing fist. "With these two Heroic Spirits at your disposal, I want you to destroy whatever is to be found in Northern Ireland, including anything and anyone that stands in your way. Remember that."

"I'll see that it is carried out."

"You'll succeed, and, when you come back, you will be that much closer to being an equal to the Barthomeloi."

Médée kept her head bowed until Vice Director Lorelei left the room and then went back to the artifacts. Her mentor's eyes—they were still so full of murderous intent. Whatever awaited them in Northern Ireland was enough to anger her, and Médée shuttered. She had to succeed, no matter the cost or burden to bear. Or, she felt, Vice Director Lorelei would lay waste to Northern Ireland in her growing fury. Burning its lands to the ground until only the ashes remained.

Something _vile_ awaited them.


	2. Chapter 2

**||. Ritual**

"We're going to start the incantation ritual right away. You still remember all I've taught you, haven't you?"

Cary moved the phone away from his ear. "What about it?"

"First thing tomorrow morning. Come over to the family mansion and we'll continue from there."

He hung up.

Cary put the phone back and stood there in silence for a moment, then took his coffee and started walking. Biting his lip, he threw the coffee away without having taken one sip. Of all the things his father wanted the sword for, it was that. Not hanging it up on a wall or using it as a fancy kitchen knife, but a Holy Grail War. He didn't even know where to start.

And it's not like he could just toss the sword somewhere and forget about it.

Gripping his steering wheel, he tried thinking rationally. His father said he'd start the incantation ritual the moment he arrived there. That meant the summoning of a Heroic Spirit — a Servant who wanted something from the Holy Grail, like a wish. A desire. Something that he didn't have any need for. So, then, why was he in this mess in the first place? His father. It always went back to him. _Always._

Still sitting idle in the driver seat, Cary sighed and looked down at the sword now resting on the passenger seat. How plain it looked. Something like this was going to summon a dead historical figure into the modern world… and, most likely — _no, there was no doubt in his mind_ — he was going to be the one to do it; his father wasn't going to.

He was.

Staring at the rain now peppering the outside of his car's windshields, he slumped forward. Just when he thought he wouldn't have to do anything more than give him the damn thing and be done with it. Any hopes that he'd still clung to vanished, drowning and washing away with the rain.

There was no avoiding it.

**—§•†•§—**

"And with this, the ritual can finally begin." Cary's father proclaimed, holding the sword aloft in his hands, standing in their family's still-being-constructed mansion's basement. Though, the only remaining section of the mansion that needed to be completed were the upper floors.

Yawning, Cary rubbed his eyes and noticed his father's hair was getting grayer and more unkempt the more he saw him. Which, this the second time in the eleven years. The last time, his father had been dressed up like some wealthy entrepreneur — and he still was... just... with more hair. He wanted to say something about the beard, but felt now wasn't the best time as his father placed the sword next to a white standard. The banner had tons of deep blue _fleur-de-lys_ around a shield of the same color, whereupon a white dove with a scroll in its beak was painted. It was tattered and the paint long since faded, chipped away. On the scroll it still faintly read _"De par le Roy du Ciel"_. His attention was brought back to his father when the older man clapped his hands in triumph.

"You have done a great thing, son." His father now clasped him on the shoulder with a smile. "With this, our family can finally—"

"Sorry to interrupt, Dad, but what is _she_ doing here?" Cary pointed a tired finger in the direction of the red-haired woman leaning against the wall in front of them, directly behind the table where the sword and standard lay. Her arms were also crossed, her eyes closed, head dipping towards the ground. Likely asleep.

"Your cousin is here to help with the incantation. Since she used to be a previous Master during the Fifth Holy Grail War, I felt it best to ask for her assistance in the matter, as you clearly aren't up to do it willingly."

"Come on, Carlin, sure he is," his cousin yawned as she came forward with a hand on the table, likely to keep from falling over. She looked him up and done and nodded. "Just because he's been neglecting the family traditions doesn't mean he's any less qualified than another. Take it from me."

"But, the difference is you joined the Mage's Association, while he just left." His father waved a hand. "To be a police officer, of all things, because _'protecting people and not dusty tomes'_ was more important."

"It _is_ more important."

His cousin closed an eye as she looked at his father now. "And? What's so bad about that?"

"A magus should stay a magus. Even desiring to strive for the same ambitions as you back then. Anything else is—"

"Did you hear that, Cary? He wants you to be like me. I'm flattered."

Cary looked away with a scowl. "Yeah, I'd rather be myself, thanks." He didn't resist when she forcibly grabbed and tugged on his jacket, glaring. He could smell her perfume. His eyes lingered on the jewelry she wore on her ears, the mementos from her time as a Master; Cú Chulainn's earrings. "Have you at least found a husband yet?" She could feel her nails digging into his shirt underneath. "I'll take that as a no_, _then?"

"Nice to see you too." Pushing him away, staring into his face with a black expression, her gloved hands curled into fists. The way her eyes narrowed and brow came closer together, it reminded him of a now-deceased drug lord that would've become something more of a threat if not for he and his department's intervention. That same expression. It was further enhanced by the two-piece black business suit she wore, and the red tie. Well, it's not like his was any less hostile. Any less intimidating. His gaze now focused on the mole just below her left eye, and her own eyes flickered to it.

"Are you two done? I'd like to get the ritual underway, if you don't mind."

Bazett's fists uncurled as she relaxed and adopted a more gentle air. "Sure thing, we were just joking." She smiled and looked back at him. "Right, Cary?"

"_Right…_"

"Just get on with the ritual."

Cary felt something being placed in the palm of his hand and looked down. Jewels.

"You'll need them to create the magic circle needed for the incantation." His cousin stated with a twitch in her smile as her hand touched his. He didn't smile back. "And here is a book that describes the incantation, as well as how to draw the circle. Do it exactly as described. You'll have to look it up yourself."

"Why am I not surprised…?" he groaned.

"Because you've already accepted the outcome." Bazett answered, now behind him.

"Start drawing the circle and once you've memorized the incantation, we'll start the ritual."

Despite his better judgment, Cary did as instructed after wasting time flipping through the book to get the correct page and drew the circle as accurately as possible after liquefying the jewels Bazett had given him through the use of his body's Magic Circuits, utilizing the picture that was on the page. To draw them forth, he had to maintain an image of _Fragarach _for a moment, which he'd seen only once when Bazett had first summoned it years ago, showing it off. His desire to have it back then had been what turned him away from being a magus like his cousin, as he'd seriously thought of murdering her for it. At that age and even now... those feelings, he never wanted to feel them again, and this… _that_ feeling of murderous intent was what called his Magic Circuits forth. The image of _Fragarach_ was really nothing but the trigger. Now outstretching his hand, he read the incantation straight from the book, not bothering to memorize it.

"Silver and iron to the origin. Gem and the archduke of contracts to the cornerstone. The ancestor is my great master Schweinorg. The alighted wind becomes a wall. The gates in the four directions close, coming from the crown, the three-forked road that leads to the kingdom circulate… Shut. Shut. Shut. Shut. Shut. Repeat every five times. Simply, shatter once filled…" From the corner of his eye, Cary saw some pass over Bazett's eyes, no doubt reminiscing, now being the time to use the title of the Heroic Spirit his father wanted him to summon. "Maiden of Orléans, I announce. Your self is under me, my fate is in your sword. In accordance with the approach of the Holy Grail, if you abide by this feeling, this reason, then answer… Here is my oath. I am the one who becomes all the good of the world, of the dead. I am the one who lays out all the evil of the world, of the seven heavens clad in three words of power. Arrive from the ring of deterrence, O keeper of the balance, Maiden of Orléans!"

The circle erupted with a bluish glow that lit up the basement as an otherworldly presence materialized before them in with a whirlwind of tornado and crash of lightning, the foundations of the mansion shaking. As the light disappeared, vanishing as quickly as it'd come, a figure short in stature stood in the center of the circle, encased in white armor with something akin to a long deep blue skirt that reached down to almost the end of her legs, as well as what appeared to be a small cross dangling from her neck. At her hip was the sword that had previously been on the table, sheathed in a leather scabbard, and in her hand, held tight between slightly sun-baked fingers, was a pole weapon, the standard now attached to the end of it, just below the spear-pointed tip.

And, before he could act, she poised the lance at him, its tip nearly touching his chin, with a glare of what could only be described as malice. As he held up his hands, she spoke and her voice was… light, heavenly — yet so full of bitterness that through her lips heaven sounded like just an unattainable dream and desire for the fools of the world.

"Vous êtes celui qui m'a convoqué ? Êtes-vous mon Maître ?"

"I don't think she likes you," Bazett commented.

"On t'a bercé trop près du mur !? Je vous demande, _vous êtes mon Maître_ !? _Comment vous appelez-vous _!"

"Put down your weapon! I'm not your—!"

"_Lance._"

"Come again?"

"Thy weapon is a lance, and attached to its ends art the hopes and dreams of those who follow in His wake. I'll ask again: thou art the one who summoned me, yes? You are my Master? What is your name?"

"Yes...! I'm... your Master... and it's Cary." He slowly lowered his hands, gesturing for her to do the same with her lance. "Now can... you just...?"

The girl lowered the lance, swinging up and placing it upright by her side once again. She turned her head to the side. "Vous êtes stupide et vous sentez comme le boeuf et le fromage..."

"She's calling you an idiot." Bazett translated. "Also, that you smell."

"I got it the first time. She hates me. I know."

"I don't hate you."

The comment snapped their attentions back to the Servant, her head tilted toward a certain angle as she sized him up. After a moment, she blinked and, with a sigh, leaned on her lance. She knocked on the side of the helm that barely covered any part of her face besides her forehead and nose and groaned.

"I was just getting my frustrations out. You just happened to be the one I acknowledged first, Master."

Cary closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, then put a hand to his face, sinking to his knees. "Ah, this is going to be the death of me..." He felt a hand gently touch his shoulder and looked up. The girl's hair swayed as she looked down upon him. Her eyes, they held something familiar, and immediately he slipped into sullenness.

"Not on my watch, Master, by God's—"

"You're not _fooling_ anyone. God is your savior? Bullshit."

Her grip on his shoulder tightened. "As you say, Master." Her voice was strained, as if she was really holding back a desire to punch him between the eyes. They were now in a deadlock stare, battling wordlessly with one another. Behind her eyes, he saw pain. And, it reminded him of his own, buried beneath his heart.

One of the many things he wanted to stay that way.

**—§•†•§—**

Looking into a large puddle of water outside the mansion, near the edge of woods, Cary watched Bazett's shimmering reflection as she paced back and forth in front of his newly summoned Servant from earlier in the morning. She was mumbling to herself, trying to figure out this new Holy Grail War, what the rules were. If they were changed from the previous clashes in Fukui. If it really was the doing of another Holy Grail War at all. All of the earlier tension was gone, replaced by a cold and calculating seriousness. Of which, he was grateful for, hoping it'd stay that way as otherwise he'd still be staring into the eyes of that which could see into the depths of his heart. Something he never wanted to look into again.

Frowning at his own reflection now, he touched the stubble on his chin. He hadn't shaved for a few days and it was clearly starting to show. His eyes wandered to the only other person reflected in the pool of water; his Servant, Jeanne d'Arc. Jehanne, as she wanted to be referred. Her expression was stoic, far removed from her earlier demeanor and she no longer said a word, other than when he tried speaking to her. When that happened it was either "don't bother me" or "I'm not in the mood to speak with an imbecile". At least it was modern English instead of French.

She was staring intensely at him, her eyes a dark brown. What he'd previously mistaken for blonde hair was actually a light shade of brunette, but he hadn't said anything to acknowledge this. Short, it reached down to her ears. In her time, he'd recalled from reading about her in Domrémy that short hair was unfeminine, but then again what'd he expect from a girl who paraded around as a knight during the Hundred Years' War? Before long he'd noticed he was staring back at her through the reflection, and she must've noticed it too because she looked away quickly. All the while, Bazett was still going over the possibilities of the new Holy Grail War aloud.

"You have a Servant and the command seals, so then why does something still feel... _off?_"

"Maybe it was your lunch. Coffee and roasted Salmon isn't the best combination."

Bazett stopped, her distorted form staring in his direction. Probably at him, but he didn't bother with trying to figure that out. She had a hand under her elbow and was biting a nail. He guessed it was one of her quirks. And, if it was either signified a deep thought process or just her holding back a desire to smack the back of his head, he couldn't tell. Maybe both. After a moment, she went back to pacing. Silently. Only the sound of her dress shoes on the wet ground, crunching gravel and mushing soil. Deep thought process, _check._

While she thought about... whatever she was thinking about... he took his revolver from a rear pant pocket and checked the cylinder, taking note that it only had three bullets out of six. He faintly smiled. The weapon wasn't exactly the most ideal firearm in this day and age, issued back in the 1970's, but there was certain fondness to it that he couldn't place. Perhaps it was because it'd been a gift, or the grip felt smoother in his hand than all the others. By today's standards it was ancient, despite being less than fifty years old. And, as he absentmindedly inspected the rest of the revolver, Bazett spoke again.

"I'm going to make a call. Don't leave from here as I won't be long."

"Wasn't planning on it." After all, he couldn't go back with something akin to a ghost trailing behind him. Plus, while she wasn't the most sociable of... dead people... she wasn't a bad looker. Not at all. Back at the department, what would they think? What would his partner think? Probably crack a few jokes about adults dating teenagers — but wait...

Wasn't she technically five hundred years older than him? At least?

"And what is your weapon?"

Her voice caused him to jolt forward and nearly lose balance, stopping just before taking an unneeded bath. Swinging his head back with a grimace, he caught her look of curiosity and thought then that even if she was significantly older, she still resembled a child at heart. "A revolver."

"What is its title?"

Except when she spoke like that. "Title...?" He looked back down at it, making an "uhh" sound. Hopefully she wouldn't call him an idiot again. "A Ruger Speed Six. It was a gift from a friend..." Waiting for an insult, word of disinterest, or disgust, he blinked when none came. His Servant's attention was fully on him, as if waiting patiently for his next words. Anticipating. "Erm, and... I like it better than the GP100 or the Glock. There's something that's comfortable about it. Maybe it's the age." _Why?_ "It's heavier than the other two, so maybe it's the weight..." _Why had she suddenly approached him? Why was he answering her?_

"My sword."

"What about it?" He turned around and watched her unsheathe it, holding it out on her hands for him to see. Personally, he'd seen enough of it already and would be more grateful if she kept it sheathed.

"The Sword of Heaven. It was dug up from the Church of St. Catherine de Fierbois. If you look closely it has five crosses in a line down the blade." Her eyes went forlornly to it. "I like it better than the other weapons because... it was the plainest. The sheaths given to me were gold encrusted and beautifully decorated, but I chose one of simple leather, as it... just felt more... comfortable... to me."

_What was she trying to get at...?_ "Your lance? Does it have a name too?"

She sheathed the sword before answering, "It doesn't have an official name."

"_Primeval_." He held up his revolver. "I call it Primeval because it's old."

"Then Ruger Speed Six is...?"

"The official name."

She turned toward the forest then, arms crossed. After a moment of silence, she went back to him. "_Bâton de piquer. _Poking-stick."

"I contacted the priestess of Fukui Church, but she says she hasn't been informed about another Grail War in Fukui, let alone Ireland." Bazett said as she joined them again. "So then, this must be something else. Only... it's very similar."

"I suppose there's no use worrying about it then?"

"No, we should definitely worry about it. Be on alert. You're not the only one who's summoned a Servant thinking this to be another Grail War."

"That's just _great..._" He assumed his full height and went from his revolver to the sword at his Servant's hip. "Then, should we expect someone to come after us soon?"

"I'm not sure, but it seems that others would've sensed the presence too. Most likely, they're still on their way or have just summoned a Servant and are currently trying to figure what all this really is, like we're doing now."

"So, a couple of days then?"

She nodded. "And there's one other thing... the priestess said to be weary of _'men garbled in black cloaks, wearing cross-shaped necklaces'_."

"And those are?"

"Executors, inquisitors that condemn heretics for the Church. In reality, they're specialized killers who hunt down magus, demons, vampires, undead, and anything else of the supernatural." Bazett cursed and made a fist. "If a group of them has been send out... then that means the Mage's Association has also send someone."

"The Ghostbusters?"

"This isn't the time for jokes! If either the Burial Agency or Barthomeloi's Enforcers are the ones coming, then Northern Ireland is going to turn into a bloodbath!"

Cary met her eyes with a glare of his own, "And we can't warn anyone?"

Bazett shook her head. "Only if you want to induce a mass panic. The only thing we _can_ do is wait it out until whoever it is arrives."

Cary turned his head towards the clouds and wondered if Jehanne could ask God to just smite him already. "And where does this presence come from? Don't tell me it's the mansion?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, as much as hate to admit it." She went to his Servant. "Do you sense anything?"

"To the north, there is something very faintly resonating."

"Somewhere near Cushendun?"

"In Antrim? Why there of all places?"

"We need to head over to Cushendun then."

"What for? Aren't all the people the Church and Mage's Association sent out eventually going to converge there? Wouldn't it be better _not_ to go there?"

She fixed him with a grave eye. "Evacuation. It's a small village, not the whole county. We'll have enough time to make it there, remove the villagers, and prepare."

"For?"

"_Anything._"


End file.
